Can I see Some Identification, Please?
by bambers2
Summary: With the Winchesters' luck, not everytime they use fake identification cards will things go smoothly for them.


So with all my computer issues, i really need to write a little bit of the funny to cheer myself up a bit...hope everyone gets a little smile out of it!! Let me know what you think and tell me if you think i should write more or hang my head in shame?? Bambers;

___Can I see Some Identification, Please_

As Sam and Dean entered the Allentown Medical Examiner's Office, Dean pressed an identification card into his little brother's hand. With a raised brow and smirking grin, he shifted to get a better look at Sam's expression when he read what his name and occupation was on the card.

"SO not funny, Dean," Sam huffed as he quickly glanced at the card in his hand. "What if they actually take a good look at this?"

"Naww . . . it'll never happen, Betty. No one ever really takes a good look at these things. It's just a formality." Dean chuckled as he good-naturedly clapped his brother on the back.

"Well, they'd better not or you're so dead," he hissed, mentally kicking himself for not asking to see the ID card his brother had gotten for him before they entered the building.

Both brothers sidled up alongside the receptionist's desk and waited until she finished her phone call before flashing their ID badges.

"Hi," Sam began, gracing her with his most alluring smile as he read her nametag, "Susan, we're here to see Mrs. Carlson's remains."

Susan quirked a puzzled brow as she studied both Winchesters for a moment, and then glanced down at the paperwork in front of her. The beginnings of a frown pulled at the corners of her lips as she peered back up at Sam. "Hmmm . . . you must be really dedicated to your profession, Betty, but I'm afraid giving the deceased a bikini wax is really out of the question . . . not to mention that it's just a bit on the creepy side in my personal opinion."

"I ummm . . . no, you don't under . . . bikini wax?" Sam stumbled over his words as he glanced down at the identification card in his hand again. Blushing a profuse shade of red, he spun on his heel and made a hasty exit with Dean following close behind. "Professional Bikini Waxer, Dean?" he growled as he got in the Impala and slammed the door shut behind him. "You're so dead, dude."

"Hey, it's not a job without its perks, Sammy." Dean chortled.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Why do you always have to push our luck with these ID cards, Dean?" Sam asked as he inspected his brother's latest handy work.

"Cause it's fun, an' no one ever notices anyway." Dean chuckled as he pocketed the identification card, and then headed toward Mrs. Finnigan's house to question her about her husband's mysterious disappearance.

"Well, you can have your fun cause I had my own ID badge made this time," he said as he flashed Dean an FBI badge.

"Suit yourself, Sammy." Dean shrugged as he rapped on Mrs. Finnigan's front door.

Within a few moments, an elderly woman with graying hair and thick-lensed glasses answered the door. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're here to talk to you about your husband's disappearance," Sam said as he flashed his badge. She inspected it for a moment and then looked to see Dean's badge.

Mrs. Finnigan leaned a bit closer to Dean as she studied his badge for a moment and then took off her glasses and wiped them on her sleeve. Putting her spectacles back on, she studied his badge a moment longer before saying, "I'm not sure how you possibly help me, Inspector Number Twelve, my husband wore Hanes underwear not Fruit of the Loom."

Sam bit down hard on his lip to keep from laughing as his brother turned a bright shade of red. Dean abruptly made an about face and scurried back to the car.

"Damn, then the tracking device Fruit of the Loom puts in all its underwear is not gonna help us one bit in solving your husband's disappearance then." Sam managed to say without laughing. "But don't you worry, I've got connections at Hanes headquarters, too." Without another word, he swung and followed after his brother.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Starsky and Hutch, Dean?" Sam gaped at the identification card he held in his hand.

"Yeah, why not, Sammy?" Dean chuckled as he stuffed the badge in his jacket pocket. "They had a cool car, I have a cool car. It's a perfect fit, don't ya think?"

"No, what I think is that one day we're gonna end up in prison because of your stupid sense of humor and these dumb fake identification cards," Sam huffed as he opened the door of the County Clerk's Office and waited for his brother to enter before following him.

"Awww . . . lighten up, dude, I'm just havin' a bit of fun. An' who really looks at these cards anyway?"

Dean confidently approached the receptionist's desk and extracted the badge from his pocket. Clearing his throat to garner the heavy-set, African-American woman's attention, he said, "Hi, I'm Lieutenant Starsky," he hitched a thumb in Sam's direction, "an' this is my partner, Hutch."

Very reluctantly, Sam flashed his badge to the woman behind the desk, and swallowed hard when she narrowed her eyes to get a better look at the card. "We need to see all your death records and missing persons reports for Livingston County for the past fifty years." Sam gulped as the buxom woman eyed both of them suspiciously. A trickle of sweat worked its way down from the nape of his neck as he saw her hand move toward the phone. "We'd really appreciate any assistance you could offer." He flashed her his most winsome smile, hoping he could charm her into doing what he wanted, but it faltered when she folded her arms and ticked her gaze between him and Dean.

"Boy, do I look like Huggy Bear to you?"

"N-No," Sam shook his head, "No, ma'am." He had the decency to at least try and look contrite, but as his gaze shifted to Dean, he saw his older brother grinning at the clerk.

"An' what are you smilin' about, Chuckles?" The receptionist pinned Dean with a stare that would make the bravest of men cower in fear, and Dean did just exactly that.

Dean's jaw dropped open as he struggled to regain his composure. "I was . . . we were," he hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the door, "An' we came in here . . . ."

"It was a college prank," Sam quickly supplied, bailing his brother out in the face of something truly evil. "We're pledging for a fraternity, an' this was part of the initiation."

"Hmmphh . . . You know I could have you both thrown in jail for impersonating police officers?"

"Well, technically we weren't really impersonating police officers," Dean hastily defended with a wavering smile, "it's more like we were impersonating really bad actors."

"Boy, you're just itchin' to have me cuff you across that thick skull of yours, aren't you?" She said as she raised her arm as if she might strike him at any given moment.

"We were jus' . . . we're gonna leave. . . . " Sam stepped in front of his brother protectively, almost certain that a woman this hostile must be possessed by some sort of demon or was suffering from a really bad case of PMS. "Sorry we bothered you." From out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, "Back away slowly, Dean, an' don't make any sudden movements that might set her off again."

"You don't have to worry about that, Sammy." Dean grabbed hold of Sam's arm and pulled him toward the doorway. "Sorry we bothered you," he muttered as he yanked his brother out the door, and hightailed it toward the Impala.

Once inside the car, Sam threw the fake identification card in the glove box, and shifted in his seat to glare at Dean. "From now on, I get our fake ID cards, got me?"

"Not even gonna argue you with you there, dude." Dean cracked a smile. "Although I think we found our demon. No one could be that hostile without being some sort of demon . . . or maybe she's suffering from a really bad case of PMS."

"Funny, I was thinkin' the same thing." Sam chuckled.


End file.
